


Captain's Meeting

by iniquiticity



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Casual Sex, Chicago Blackhawks, Chirping, Death by Exposition, Joe Thornton is Hella Wise, Jonny and Pat are Emotionally Stunted, M/M, San Jose Sharks, Sexy Epilogue, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pat and Jonny decide after every game to "go to the bar" or "hang out." Jonny is careful to keep their relationship open because them being exclusive means Jonny has to examine his feelings. This doesn't stop opposing players from chirping him about it, of course, and nothing enrages Jonny like people disparaging Pat. </p><p>"Want a real lay? Call me," Joe Thornton says into his ear during the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happens after the Toews/Thornton fight on Feb 15. Youtube link is [here.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6go7EZ0gog)
> 
> Assist from [salvamisandwich](http://archiveofourown.org/users/salvamisandwich/pseuds/salvamisandwich), Lei & Bexy for their help and readings.

So Jonny doesn't consider himself a sex-crazed hornball like Pat is, but he has his needs, and he's more or less perfectly all right with that. It's just that he doesn't try to fuck everything on two legs, which is also more or less Pat's speciality. 

("You're always the best lay, dammit," Pat usually says to him after they're finished, "What the fuck, man?") 

Jonny doesn't mind too much. They don't have a serious thing, and they're not together, like boyfriends or anything. But sometimes you just don't want to go to the bar and find some person to have sex with. Sometimes there's something refreshing about having sex with the person who has more or less been your shadow for a while now. 

(Pat is his favorite lay too, and he can't say he would complain about them going exclusive - but that's a little more emotional exploration than he's willing to deal with, especially during the season.) 

So they're in California to play the Sharks, and over lunch Pat is explaining to him one of his many sexual conquests, because explaining your sex life over lunch is something only someone with Patrick Kane's emotional maturity does. Jonny deals with it, because dealing with Pat is something he enjoys in a sick kind of way. There's this ramen place in one of the towns near San Jose that Pat loves and they have to go every time they're here. It's only one or two times a season, after all. The nice thing about Northern California is that they go more or less unmolested outside of downtown San Jose, and the people in San Francisco are too obsessed with their baseball team to care anything about hockey. 

"This guy's legs," Pat is saying in their corner booth in between slurping noodles and miso broth, "were practically the size of my head. Like, this guy could have probably gotten on a team with a walk-on tryout based on his thighs. Wouldn't matter if he could skate. And the way they felt under my hands - christ, Jonny, I probably could have come in my pants just touching them." 

Jonny just rolls his eyes. "That is about your stamina," he says, picking up one of the pieces of pork in his ramen and eating it. Pat glares at him, but it's difficult to take a man with noodles hanging out of his mouth seriously, and that's on top of it being Pat. 

"Well, why don't you tell me about your amazing sexual conquests then, Mr. I Can Go Forever Oh Wait I Need a Nap?" 

Jonny snorts. "Didn't hear you complaining about a nap, and I definitely didn't hear you complain _after_. In fact, I seem to remember you being pretty satisfied with my post-nap performance." 

"Whatever, man," Pat replies, in 100% full sulk mode, and Jonny just chuckles into his ramen and feels satisfied he probably won this round. There's a long pause where they just eat for a while, and Jonny knows that ramen is probably more salt than his diet plan suggests but he finds it hard to deny Pat a restaurant they'll only visit twice a year. 

(He finds it hard to deny Pat anything, basically.)

"So do we want to hang out after the game?" Pat asks after a while. _Hang out_ , meaning fuck. The alternative being _go to the bar_ , which means hook up elsewhere. 

Jonny always prefers _hang out_ to _go to the bar_ , but he carefully tempers those feelings. Their relationship is open because if it becomes exclusive, they might end up in a lot of trouble, and by that Jonny means he will have to examine his feelings and he’s more than sure he won’t like the results. 

"I guess we should go to the bar," Jonny says, because they _hung out_ after the win against the Coyotes and the loss against the Kings. He thinks if he _hangs out_ too much with Pat, he might not ever be able to _go to the bar_ ever again. 

Pat looks at his ramen and eats some more. There's a long silence. 

"Okay," he says, and waits for a few beats before launching back into the story about his lay, who apparently had an ass to rival Sidney Crosby's. 

* 

HP Pavilion is nice enough, and the Sharks are on furious losing streak, which is even nicer, and his Blackhawks - well, they're winning and winning and winning. That's the nicest of them all. 

Thornton sets up across center ice from him and he has to admit that he likes the glare in the opposing captain's eye. That's how he would look if they were losing, he thinks. Joe's a good enough guy. Good teammate, from the Olympics. Great hockey player too.

The Sharks play like they're on a furious losing streak, and every shift Thornton is yelling at someone, sometimes Jonny's team, sometimes his own. He's angry because he's losing, and Jonny can appreciate that, if nothing else. 

Then--- 

"I bet Kane has a C on the jersey he wears when he fucks you, huh?" Thornton says, as he battles with Jonny in the corner for the puck, and Jonny's stunned for long enough for the bigger captain to take the puck away from him. He follows Thornton from the corner and into the slot, his eyes narrowed. 

"Yeah, we fuck after every win," he growls, stick-checking and making an irritated noise as Thornton dekes away from him, "You'd be on a dry spell for the ages."  

Thornton passes it to Marleau and looks over his shoulder at Jonny as he skates in a cycle, "Just think about how tight your ass would get if you were a Shark. But his is pretty small, I bet it wouldn't be a problem." 

The puck slides into the corner and both of them skate after it. Jonny takes his stick in both hands and shoves it into Thornton's back, and the bigger man crumbles to the ice.

"Pat's a better fucking lay than you'll ever be, old man," he says, with a snarl he didn't originally intend to use, and he gives him another crosscheck as the puck bounces away. 

Thornton looks at him over his big teal shoulder and says, with a sneer that pushes every button he has in his body, "You don't have to take out your rage at how bad your lay is by crosschecking me." 

Jonny gives him one more shove and goes after the puck. 

"I expected better of a captain!" Thornton shouts at him from behind the net, and Jonny bites his lip and says _screw it_ and skates over to give him another shove. 

"Quit shitting on Pat and fight me," he growls, and he digs his fingers into Thornton's sweater, lips bared in a snarl. 

"I don't think you want to do that," Thornton replies, leaning away from him, but Jonny's already tangled them up and is mid-punch. 

"I really think I do," Jonny says, so Thornton shrugs, laughs, socks him, pulls his helmet off, and drags him to the ground. 

"Want a real lay? Call me," the bigger man says into his ear, and then he skates into his penalty box, and Jonny bites back the seething rage as he stares at Thornton soaking in the cheers of his home crowd. 

* 

They beat the Sharks easily, but Jonny is still seething about Thornton's chirps. Pat senses his rage more or less instantly, from the second he goes to the bench till the game-ending horn, and his winger sits next to him as he more or less angrily tears off his gear in the dressing room. He's going to have interviews about the fight and he isn't even sure what the hell he's going to say. 

Pat fills him with interview-worthy quotes, one of the many ways he is useful. Pat has gone through a lot of media shit with the irresponsibility of his youth, and no one knows just the right thing to say better than him. So Pat tells Jonny what to say, and Jonny says it, and it's actually not as bad as he expected. In response, the reporters tell him that it’s a complete mess of a blizzard in Ottawa and they can’t leave until tomorrow morning. Jonny starts looking forward to hanging out with Pat before he realizes that he said they should go to the bar. 

He bites his lip and stares at his phone for a while, then shoots a text message into the ether. 

*

Thornton gives him the address and room number of a hotel that isn't the one the team is staying at. That's a pretty smart plan - this is probably not the big captain's first hockey one night stand. Certainly Jonny's got enough Chicago hockey sex under his belt to know that you have to take precautions.

The other captain looks better, the rage of the hockey game dissipated around him, the anger and frustration of losing less of a weight dragging him down. The growl in his chirps looks like it was left on the ice. Jonny's a little jealous that Thornton seems to have sidelined his hockey emotions, because it's something he's never been able to do. He wouldn't be able to pick up a guy bigger than him in the middle of a losing streak and after a loss.

The guy looks good too, three days growth of full reddish beard that Jonny's jealous about, with an old, soft-looking t-shirt that's probably seen enough of these kinds of encounters and jeans that fit him well enough to be flattering. Jonny finds himself thinking back to Pat's story about perfect thighs at lunch. He finds it hard to believe this won't match it, though he's not usually as loud about his sexual exploits. 

"I thought you and Kane fucked after all your wins?" Thornton asks, sitting on the edge of their rented hotel bed and drinking the water out of the minibar. 

"Not after all of them," Jonny says, and maybe he's not all that good about pretending that's not exactly what he wants, because Thornton quirks an eyebrow at him, a little grin curling on his lips. 

"Sounds like you'd like it to be that way," he says, "So, why are you here?" 

"It's just a thing we do," Jonny says, and Thornton actually laughs this time. 

"Just a thing you do where me saying he's shitty in bed make you want to fight someone who has three inches and twenty pounds on you?" 

Jonny scowls at him because he doesn't have an answer. 

"Hey," Thornton stands up and sticks his hands in his jeans pockets, meandering closer to where Jonny is standing in the middle of the room, "If you want to go find your man and have sex with him, I won't take it personally. I'm not the one you're obviously in love with, after all." 

"I'm not in love with him!" Jonny snaps, and he shoves at Thornton, who wraps his big hands around Jonny's wrists. Thornton gives him a skeptical look, and Jonny fights the grip, but it's about as strong as one might expect from a hockey player they call Jumbo Joe. 

"I guess we're done talking, then?" Thornton says, and he lets go of Jonny's wrists once he stops fighting. Then, Joe pulls his shirt off and dumps it on the ground. 

The view is pretty impressive, Jonny admits to himself. Thornton flexes, and Jonny looks up at him, and yeah, they're about done with talking now, especially because the bigger man takes his face in his equally bigger hands and kisses him with a ferocious heat that Jonny finds himself thinking is perfectly befitting of a captain. Thornton picks up like he weighs nothing and carries him to their rented hotel bed, crawling on top of him and scratching his face with his beard as they kiss.

It's not that bad.

"Does Pat top you?" Thornton asks, as he sits back on Jonny's hips and pulls Jonny’s shirt off. His eyes are appreciative as he teases his fingers up the hills and valleys of Jonny's stomach, making him shiver. He tweaks a nipple and Jonny closes his eyes, his breath hitching. 

"I thought we were done talking about this," Jonny replies, sounding more breathless than he intended, because Thornton is now kissing his neck and throat, and yeah, the beard scraping is definitely a thing he's into, all of this feeling and scratching skin. He draws his hands down Thornton's shoulders, and he's all muscle, huge and built and solid. Different than Pat, who always seems so lean and whip-strong. 

"He's smaller than you, though," Thornton says, and he shimmies down to Jonny's thighs, drawing the palm of his hand in hard circles on Jonny's groin, making his toes curl in his sneakers. "I was just wondering. Not that I would let you top me." 

"Fuck you," Jonny snarls, and Thornton laughs and gives him a squeeze that makes him bite back a groan. "Not talking about this." 

"Just a little hockey gossip, that's all," Thornton says, as he unzips Jonny's fly and shifts further down his thighs to yank the other man's pants and boxers down enough to be effective. 

"I don't want to talk about it," Jonny snaps, and Thornton just shrugs at him and takes his cock in one of those big hands. Jonny closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, and yeah, for this asshole's talk, he has the hands of a god, drawing hockey callouses over the sensitive head of his cock, squeezing and stroking him to full hardness, gentle enough that the dryness of his hands makes him gasp. It's not quite pain, just on the edge of it. He jerks his hips up into Thornton's hand as much as he can manage with the guy sitting on his thighs, just letting himself enjoy how good it feels, the sharp pressure of it and the perfect slide. He hears a groan above him and opens his eyes, and Thornton has his other hand squeezing a sizable bulge in his own jeans. 

It's nice to watch. 

Thornton slides off the bed to strip off the rest of his clothes, so Jonny takes the opportunity to do the same. He takes a few seconds to study the other man, and yeah, this was actually a really good idea. Thornton's huge and muscular, nothing like Pat - not usually like the guys Jonny normally picks up, all slim and blonde and devious. Instead, the other captain falls far to the other side of the spectrum - tall and thick and unmistakably masculine, dusted appropriately with red body hair, possessing all the bruises and old scars of a long, successful hockey career. Jonny might be staring, but he doesn't care, because every one of Thornton's muscles is defined under his skin, bulging in a way he's never managed to get no matter how many bicep curls he does. Pat always seems to possess all this tensile strength, like he could bend and bend and never break, like a steel cord, but Thornton looks like sheer, raw strength. No wonder hitting him feels like a brick wall. 

He's proud as hell of his body, and all the work he's put into it, but he can't deny a flare of jealousy at Thornton's sheer size, and his bulging muscles, and his height, and, for lack of a better word, pure manliness.

He lets his eyes trail down the man's body - Thornton just stands there, likely basking in the attention - and yeah, maybe there are other reasons they call the guy Jumbo. 

"What do you think?" Thornton asks, chuckling as Jonny licks his lips. 

"Sit," Jonny says, voice a little higher than he intends. The other captain sits on the edge of the bed, putting his hands on his thighs and waiting. Jonny kneels between his legs, and Thornton's half-limp cock is even bigger from this vantage point, thick and gorgeous, and he can feel himself salivating at the thought of having this in his mouth. 

"Yes, sir," Thornton replies, a low growl sliding into his tone, and he draws his fingers through Jonny's short hair and watches him through half-lidded eyes. "Anything else?" 

Jonny spits on the palm of his hand and draws it down the length of Thornton's shaft, studying the hardening cock in front of him as he strokes it. 

"It's fine if you can't take it all in," Thornton says. Jonny stares up at him, and yeah, that's a challenge in his eye. 

"I can get you off before I have to," Jonny retorts. Thornton laughs, leaning forward to draw his fingers across Jonny's lips. 

"I hope you're able to back up strong words like that." 

Jonny draws his lips across the reddening head of Thornton's cock, teasing and tasting him. He trails his mouth down the shaft, letting the heat of the other man's body sink into him, sighing against the sensitive skin and closing his eyes as those big hands draw through his hair idly. 

"I don't make promises I can't keep," he says against Thornton's groin, teasing his fingers against the base of his cock, and the other man just manages a breathy laugh. When Jonny looks up, he shivers a little bit at that face gazing down at him, something dark and expectant in those eyes. Thornton gives his hair a gentle tug, and Jonny growls at him before before wrapping his lips around the head of his cock properly. 

It's big, and Jonny's gotten used to a little smaller lately, especially Pat. He can't stop himself from comparing. He likes that Thornton's big, likes the feeling of large hands in his hair, the sense of being surrounded by those hockey player's thighs, even larger than usual. He likes the sound of the man's soft sighs, his otherwise surprising quiet. Pat's different - warm and obnoxious, muttering and cursing at him, being his bossy self, scratching his scalp and digging his fingers into Jonny's shoulders. His skin prickles thinking about it, missing it, and he closes his eyes and concentrates on the task at hand. 

It takes some effort, wrapping himself around Thornton's cock, stretching his mouth wide and wet around the thickness of it and slowly easing it into his mouth. If this were Pat, there'd be all sorts of comments, how he's drooling all over the both of them, sliding on and off and forcing his throat and jaw to relax. He digs his fingers into Thornton's thighs as he works him over, refusing to concentrate on the tears he can feel building at the corners of his eyes. Instead he thinks about everything here that makes him throb: the feeling of fullness, that heat in his mouth and the taste of flesh and salt and precome on his tongue; Thornton's fingers shaking slightly as they card through his hair; the man's shaking breaths and soft, shuddering moans. When he looks up, Thornton looks gorgeous, leaning over him, eyes half-lidded as he watches. 

Thornton sees him watching, gives him an appreciative smile, and strokes his hair affectionately. He's not pushy, though, and he doesn't jerk up into Jonny's mouth or dig his fingers into his scalp or shoulders. He's patient and Jonny has to listen quietly for the hitches in his breath and the low, murmured words he can't make out. He feels Thornton out by the tenseness in his thighs and the twitching of his skin.

He remembers their bet as he's forcing his everything to relax, working on taking Thornton into himself. He can make the other captain come without swallowing him down, he thinks to himself. That's definitely within his reach. Pat always compliments him on his ability to suck cock.

So he concentrates elsewhere, sliding his hand around what he can't reach, drawing his lips tighter and creating some good, tight suction. He can hear Thornton's gasps above him and feels satisfied, and even manages to pull a groan from the quiet captain with an expert flick of his tongue. 

"Ok," The man breathes, lingering over him, touching him in that shivery way that suggests just how close he really is, "You win. Can you swallow me down?" 

Jonny pulls off and moves to wipe his mouth, but Thornton interrupts, using one of his own hands to draw Jonny's from his spit-slick chin. He doesn't bother to open his mouth - he knows what he'd likely sound like, can feel how hoarse his throat feels, and that's before he's even gone all the way. instead he just fixes the other man with an intent gaze. 

"Don't even know why I asked." 

Jonny shifts his jaw a few times and takes a few experimental swallows to try to release some of the tension there, and then he gets back to work, relishing in the the other man's touch and the weight of his cock in his mouth. 

"Real good," Thornton murmurs, stroking his hair and making these delicious breathy sounds Jonny didn't know he liked, "Real good." 

Jonny pauses to bask in the praise for a few seconds, and then he gets down to business, concentrating on relaxing his throat and letting it open, and not tensing his jaw. He tries to imagine what Pat might be doing if this were Pat's cock, if they were in one of their bedrooms. Pat would be a little crazy, digging his hands into the sheets or leaving bruises on Jonny's shoulders, and he'd be saying the most filthy fucking things Jonny can imagine, talking about sex and their bodies and all the things he wants to do to Jonny. Jonny has to shift slightly to squeeze the base of his cock, because thinking about Pat when he's like this is making his insides twist hotly.

His lips brush against damp, reddish curls and his throat works, accepting, dealing with Thornton's cock buried deep, and yeah, he totally took all of it and above him the big man is whimpering a little, hands shaking as they stroke his shoulders. Jonny can't get much of anything this deep, but he swallows and is rewarded with a ragged moan. He works his tongue around what he can reach.

Thornton presses one big palm to his forehead and pushes him off, gasping and squeezing one hand around his cock.

"I'm old," he says by way of explanation, in this breathy voice that reminds Jonny of hockey exhaustion, "Want to fuck you."

"Christ, yes," Jonny replies, because he can only imagine how that thing is going to feel inside him. His voice is a croak, and he can feel how raw his throat is from the effort.

Thornton doesn't make fun of him like Pat does, doesn't make his snickering dick jokes, doesn't start on some long soliloquy about how good he sounds when he's wrecked. But the big man does tug on his shoulders as an indication to stand, and he does draw a finger down Jonny's spit-slick chin, pulling him close for a thorough kiss that leaves Jonny panting and his face stinging.

Jonny pushes Thornton forward, and the man just goes with him, falling back onto the bed as Jonny kisses him back, tracing his fingers over the muscles, digging into his defined stomach. He feels those big arms wrap around him, tracing down his back and taking two firm handfuls of his ass.  He groans into Thornton’s mouth and bites at his lips.

It's weird being with someone taller than him. 

Thornton grins at him and squeezes his aforementioned handfuls, and with an unfamiliar ease, flips them around. Jonny finds himself with a mouthful of pillow and Thornton's weight on his back. He wiggles, putting both hands on the bed to get some leverage, but Thornton starfishes one big hand between his shoulder blades and shoves him into the bed. 

"Let go of me, you asshole," he says, pushing against the hold, and above him he can hear the other man laughing. 

"Damn, you're a squirmy one," Thornton says, entertained, and he bends down and presses gentle bites at the base of Jonny's neck that make him shiver. He peppers his teeth across Jonny's shoulders and down the notches of his spine and the curve of his ass, those big hands squeezing and rubbing across his skin, maybe just a hint of a fingernail for seasoning but nothing else. Jonny thinks it might be the gentleness of it that's getting to him, the way the other man is making him shiver and groan without teethmarks and scratches and a fight, how he can quiet Jonny without fighting him, just relaxing him until he's all skin and bones and arousal pressed into the bedsheets. 

It's an admirable skill if nothing else, and Jonny closes his eyes and buries his face in a pillow. He can feel Thornton's weight shift, leave the small of his back for a few seconds. There's the ruffling of clothes and the bed dips again, and those hands are spreading his legs and rubbing his thighs. He hears an appreciative noise and looks behind him, and Thornton is studying him with a gaze just as admiring as the sound. 

"You have a great body," he says when he makes eye contact. The tension in the moment breaks, and Thornton laughs a little, touching the lines of his calves and  rubbing his thighs in a way that makes Jonny fight the urge to squirm. The big man has a way of touching him with an intensity that makes everything achey and hot. Pat always has a litany of filthy compliments to go with his touches; Joe says almost nothing. 

"Yeah, you too," Jonny answers, and he imagines age means Joe works twice as hard. His eyes are drawn to Thornton lubing up his fingers - then lower, and yeah, that thing is gonna be in him and it makes him ridiculously hot and anxious all at once. The other man seems to sense it, because he presses a settling touch to the small of Jonny's back with his un-lubed hand, stroking the notches of his spine like he’s calming a wild animal.

"Wish I could be 25 again," Thornton says above him, mesmerizing him with the tips of his fingers and a few delicate kisses. "But don't worry, I'll take it slow. Just tell me if it's too much, not enough, you know." He slides a finger inside Jonny, and Jonny closes his eyes and lets the feeling of being fingered open swallow him up. 

Joe is really good at this. Those deliberate touches that the man applies to his back that make him hot are twice as intense with fingers inside him, these slow and deep thrusts that sizzle through him like electricity. He can hear the low rumbles of admiration from behind him, can feel the delicious burn of the stretch, twisting through him. Something about it - maybe the deliberate speed or the man's obvious intent on readying him - makes it hard for Jonny to keep his cool. His fingers scramble in the bedsheets, burying gasping moans and tiny begging whimpers into his pillow. He tries to push back, tries to take more, tries to speed up the pace, but Thornton just keeps him still with the hand at the base of his spine as he drives him completely and utterly insane. By the time Joe is stretching three fingers inside him, Jonny's begging for it, whimpering into the pillow and jerking as much as he can against the bed, his cock aching and leaking. 

He manages a low gasp as Thornton pulls his fingers out, and everything clenches at the desperate emptiness of it. Joe pulls him onto his hands and knees with a now-familiar strength, and he hears the sharp sound of a condom wrapper being opened. Then, Jonny feels the slick length of it sliding along the crease of his ass and catching on his hole, and he manages a broken moan. 

"Want to come before I fuck you, while I'm fucking you, or after?" Thornton says above him, sliding his cock through the crease of Jonny's ass and Jonny thinks that he might shake to pieces just at this, without ever have been fucked. The question never reaches the more reasonable parts of his brain made for answers, though. The nice thing is he finally has some leverage and can rub up against the other captain as he so desires. Above him, Thornton chuckles. 

"Just tell me if it's too much," he says, and he begins to slide in slowly, and Jonny's brain promptly short-circuits. 

So he knew that it was big - knew because he saw, because it took some effort to get it into his mouth and down his throat, but this is a whole new learning experience about size, about his body flexing and taking the punishment he gives to it. Thornton does go slow, but even so there’s enough that Jonny's not used to it, and the stretch is definitely edging into an entirely unsexy pain. He digs his fingers into the sheets and Thornton stops, gives Jonny time to adjust into it and maybe relax if he can. But it's hard to relax - or concentrate, or do anything, what with what's being pressed into him, opening him in an unfamiliar way. Thornton is murmuring above him, touching his back and his sides in his distractingly delicate-but-intense way, at least taking a little of the edge off it. Joe reaches for his cock but Jonny bats him away.He won't last and he needs to for this. 

"Big," Jonny manages in a gasp, and Thornton kisses his ear and scrapes his beard down Jonny's neck in a way that makes him shudder. 

"Too much?" The other captain asks softly, and he begins to draw out, but Jonny puts a hand on his arm. 

"Want it," Jonny replies, and he turns what must be a crazy lust-eyed gaze to make eye contact. 

Thornton kisses him with thorough tenderness, and Jonny focuses on it as the man pushes into him again. Eventually the hurt begins to calm - it doesn't go away entirely, this pain on the edges of his consciousness, but it settles low in his stomach like every hockey injury he's played through, and it's easy to ignore especially when Thornton bottoms out in him and he hears the man gasp, can feel his hands shaking. It's not that bad now that he's all the way in, Jonny finds himself thinking. This kind of fullness - shit, the way it feels, how it it makes his insides twist, how completely penetrated he is - it's more than worth a little pain. 

Thornton shifts and it charges every nerve ending in his body. 

"Move," he croaks into the pillow, in a pleading voice he can't control. 

"Yeah," Thornton says above him, and for once his voice doesn't sound completely under control - he can hear it shake, hear the aching desire there. 

The big man starts slow and gentle, hardly any thrust at all, but even that makes Jonny gasp. He begs for more, begs for something, anything - and maybe he doesn't even know what he's saying, if there are even words there at all. And Thornton increases his pace, too, these delicious whimpers coming from his mouth, long groans and mutters Jonny can't hear clear enough to understand. But they're gorgeous, and there's a good rhythm in him now, hard and deep and fast and pounding and he's going to be painfully sore tomorrow but he can't find the will to care. Not with how good this is, how Thornton can shift and light up his body like a christmas tree. 

He thinks about what if Pat could see him right now. What if Pat was there, lingering on the side of the bed, his mouth hanging open, big eyes wide. He'd stare, dick jutting and hard as he watches Jonny get fucked like this, take it like he is, arching back into it and making all these noises he doesn't understand. He might even run out of chirps, maybe stop running his damn mouth for ten or fifteen seconds because the sight is so good. He knows what it feels like, and to imagine how this must look, with Joe hanging over him and digging fingers into his hips and sliding in and out of him, and how Jonny must look, mouth hanging as he drops to his elbows for a little leverage, moaning and aching. 

Thornton changes the angle slightly, put some force into a thrust, and slams into his prostate hard enough to make Jonny cry out, the end of it twisting into a sob. And again, and again, and again, until Jonny is shaking and shivering from it, overwhelmed by the nerves in his body. 

If Pat was here, he'd have Pat in front of him, have the man's delicious, perfect cock in his mouth, digging his fingers into his winger's hips and swallowing him down and listening to Pat's moans and filthy sayings and delicious, dirty compliments about him. Pat likes fucking his mouth, pulling on his hair and bending him to his will, and Jonny is a sucker for it, just melts against those commands and that bright smirk he's goddamn in love with.

"Pat," he moans, as he wraps one dry hand around his cock, and whatever pain he might feel is completely blacked out by the molten pleasure Thornton pounds through his body with every thrust. He strokes himself hard, like Pat likes to, thinking about blonde curls and that whip-strong body and those delicious lips. "Pat, Pat, Pat, Pat," he gasps, the name on his lips with every breath, and he comes on the apex of a thrust, shooting all over his hand and the bed, his whimpers twisting into pleading, senseless sobs. The thrusts get harder, more intense, and his overwhelmed body is saying _too much, too much_ , but he can't even speak, can't change things. 

Thornton makes a sound like he's been punched and stills inside him, mouth against the nape of his neck, beard scraping as he gasps hot air against his back. Joe makes a few more thrusts that Jonny pathetically whimpers at, and he pulls out, and Jonny feels desperately empty at that second, flopping down onto the bed and curling up. Then, those big arms and those big legs wrap around him, that body pressed against his back and the touch of that beard in his hair. Jonny melts into the heat of it, into that sense of being protected that Pat exudes for him all the time - on the ice, in bed, in the locker room. 

"I'm honored," says Thornton's voice in his ear, breathless with an edge of amusement, and then Jonny drops off into sleep. 

* 

Jonny wakes up alone in bed and the hotel shower is running. 

His ass is also achingly sore, which causes him to croak out a sleepy laugh. He draws a hand over his face and looks at the clock, shaking his head. He wiggles out of his own wet spot and rolls onto his front, burying his face in the pillow. 

The minute he's conscious enough to start realizing things, they appear as desperate, embarrassing bubbles in his thoughts. Should he apologize for moaning someone else's name while he was getting one of the more intense fucks of his life? And there's the fact that he definitely had the thought that he loves Pat last night, a thought which he's been carefully avoiding. He knows that now that he's had it, it's lodged there into his mind, right next to the hockey plays, and he knows it's not going anywhere. He's totally screwed - more screwed than last night, and that creates another sleepy laugh, followed by a hanging sensation of dread that feels like nausea.

The shower turns off, and a few minutes later Thornton steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He smiles at Jonny in bed. 

"Good morning," he says. 

"Good morning," Jonny replies, out of force of habit. Then, without thinking  - "Look, about last night, when I --" 

"I said I was honored," Joe replies, setting up the hotel coffee machine and not even looking at Jonny as he talks. "It's not every day you fuck someone and they moan the name of the guy they're in love with." 

"I'm not in love with him," Jonny retorts, angry enough, even though he immediately knows it's a lie. Thornton looks over his shoulder and gives him a deeply skeptical look, his reddish eyebrows rising to his forehead. 

"Sure," the other captain says, obviously not believing him, punctuating the statement with a roll of his eyes. There's a pause. "I'm just saying, you guys have a lot of hockey to play together. It's better to play it knowing than not. Trust me on this one. Plus, why sleep with anyone else if you know who you want?"

He takes the cup of instant coffee out of the machine and puts in a second mug. Jonny sits up and groans at sitting on his sore ass, wiggling towards the end of the bed, testing his feet before standing. "What if he doesn't---" 

Thornton laughs. "He does," he says, "I think it's obvious to everyone but you. Nobody cares about Jonathan Toews more than Patty Kane. Cream and sugar?" 

"Uh, yeah," he replies, and he runs his hands through his hair and takes a few wobbly steps around the hotel room. Thornton comes over with a cup of coffee, and Jonny feels decidedly more alive with the strong smell of it and the acrid taste on his tongue. 

"The way he responded to mine and Clowey's chirps probably means he's really into you," Thornton continues. A grin curls on his face, "I though I might have to fuck both of you back to your senses, but he didn't show. So you should probably let him know, because he's apparently as blind as you are on the subject." 

"You chirped him about me?" Jonny growls, and Thornton laughs and sips his coffee. The big man puts the mug down and drops the towel, and Jonny lets himself admire that form as it's slowly obscured by clothes. "And then you invited him too?" 

"Yeah," Thornton pulls on his shirt and grins. "What, you think just because I'm old I can't be devious anymore? The hell do you have left then? Pretty sure he was actually angrier about the chirps than you. Apparently the shit he slung at Clowey was for the ages."

Jonny makes a face, and Thornton just laughs at him, drinking his coffee and sitting next to him on the bed. 

"You should probably take a shower and get out of here so you can confess your feelings to the man of your dreams. But if you do ever need a third, and we happen to be in the same vicinity, let me know." 

Jonny puts the coffee down and heads to the shower, taking tender steps. When he gets out of the bathroom, Joe has already left. He rubs at the fading reddish scrape on his face and tries to ignore the anxiousness twisting in his stomach. 

* 

When they finally get on the plane, Pat sits next to him like he usually does, but he immediately puts his headphones and looks out the window as they take off. Jonny frowns at the back of his blond head and swallows back his anxiety.

"Hey, Jonny," Sharpy says, appearing in the aisle when they're in the air. "Pat talk to you yet?"

Jonny looks up at his iPad, glances at the back of Pat's head and looks up at Sharpy.

"No….." he says, and the frown crawls slowly across his face. Sharpy clucks his tongue in disapproval, and then he reaches over his captain to yank the headphones off Pat's ears. 

"What the fuck, Sharpy?" Pat says, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. 

"Don't you have something to tell Jonny, Peeks?" Sharpy asks, with a look that makes Jonny feel like something has been planned and he's the last one to know. That feeling intensifies when Pat looks at him with this caged-animal kind of look, afraid and worried and confused all at once, like he doesn't know what to do. He opens his mouth to say something, and Jonny leans in, but instead the winger puts his headphones back on and looks back out the window without so much as an answer. 

Sharpy shrugs, gives Jonny a _what can you do?_ kind of look, and heads back to his seat. 

Being captain, Jonny isn't usually accustomed to feeling left out of the various social shenanigans that go on in his own team, and he has to think about it, build up some kind of conspiratorial connection between Thornton telling him to say something yesterday, and Kane, and Sharpy --- 

"Bur," he says, nodding to himself. He stands up, heading to the back of his plane where Sharpy sits, now with Bicks, and previously with current San Jose Shark Adam Burish. Burish, who's the missing link in the conspiracy against him and Pat. When he gets there, he glances at the sleeping Bickell against the window and looks down at Sharpy. The man looks like he already knows what Jonny is going to say. 

"You were with Bur last night," he says, and Sharpy nods, letting Jonny make his own conclusions. In the silence, Sharpy tilts his head and wears the unimpressed face Jonny just saw on the Sharks captain just last night. 

"Tell him," Sharpy says, in as insistent a whisper he can manage with Bicks sleeping next to him. "Don't be an idiot about it. You're only marginally less emotionally stunted than him, but obviously he's not the one who's going to make it happen. He feels the same way, everyone can tell, even a member of a team we see three times a year. I bet you'll be better, even. And shit, you guys better…" Sharpy makes a low, impressed whistle. 

Jonny opens his mouth to say something and shuts it, then sulks back to his seat. He sits and watches Pat stare out the window out of the corner of his eye and fights the urge to touch him, to maybe put his hand on Pat's jean-covered thigh or feel the soft curls that have just started growing down his neck. With Pat looking away from him, the length of his neck is exposed, and Jonny wants to kiss him right there, or maybe stroke his finger down the long stretch of skin, feel the goosebumps raise to his touch. 

He bites his lip once and takes a deep breath. 

"Kaner," he says, and he bumps their shoulders together. 

Pat looks at him with that caged-animal look and slides his headphones off. 

"Yeah?" 

 _Grow some balls and do it, Toews_ , he thinks to himself. 

"Hey, if you want, you want to hang out more and not go to the bar?" He aims for as casual as possible, though he's not sure if gets there. Pat stares at him for a while, and Jonny isn't sure what to make of the flickering in those eyes. 

"Yeah," Pat says, oddly breathless. 

Jonny looks around the plane, and no one’s watching them, so he leans to press a kiss to the stretch of Pat's neck that's practically screaming at him to be touched. Pat smiles at him, and the tension leaves his face all at once, and Jonny's stomach does a warm flip at being the cause of a smile like that. 

"I like hanging out with your dumb face rather than going to the bar, anyway,” Pat says, making a soft little pleased noise at the kiss. 

"Your face is way dumber than mine," Jonny retorts. Pat just laughs and draws a hand through his hair, and Jonny shivers with pleasure at the attention, leaning into it. 

"It's the face you're stuck with," Pat replies, and Jonny's stomach does another loop, only this time the warmth crawls through his whole body, even tingling in the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes. Jonny smiles at him because he can't help it, and Pat just smiles back, and for a second he's struck dumb with it, that this guy for all his faults and issues wants to, well - hang out with him. 

It feels like they stay like that for a long time. 

"You should grow a beard," Jonny says and Pat snickers, rolls his eyes, pulls him close. 

"If you want a beard, you can keep fucking Thornton," he says into Jonny's ear.

Jonny twists, so they're looking at each other again, and he presses their foreheads together. The closeness is making him stupid, he thinks, because he can't stop smiling. "I guess I'll stick with you anyway." 


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's blizzarding in Chicago and Jonny's body is still singing from their overtime winner. He should feel bad about the Sharks, likely grounded here till at least morning, but he can't bring himself to care.

It's blizzarding in Chicago and Jonny's body is still singing from their overtime winner, Shawsy crashing the net like his lunatic self and his insane deflection. Jonny was a +3 in the game and it was on Hockey Night, so they drag him away after his first round of interviews to do a second round, which is more or less like torture. He should feel bad about the Sharks, likely grounded here till at least morning, but he's too busy reviewing his whole beautiful game in his head and making up hockey cliches to tell to the press. By the time he gets showered and ready, Pat's already left United Center. It's a little suspicious. Pat always waits for him. 

Pat isn't in front of the TV when Jonny gets home, or burning dinner, or stuffing his face with takeout and gatorade. This makes Jonny even more suspicious, so he dumps his shoes and bag at the door and checks the bathroom.

"Pat?" He shouts into the house. 

"Upstairs!"   
   
Jonny hops up the steps and goes to open his door, but there's a force on the other side holding it shut. 

"Pat?" Jonny asks, his confusion evident.

"Close your eyes," Pat says through the door. Jonny does, a little because he's stupid, but mostly because it sounds like Pat has some sort of new kinky plan, which makes his dick twitch in his jeans. 

He hears the door open and can feel Pat pull him inside. 

"Don't open your eyes yet," Pat says, and Jonny hears the door close. 

Then, there's a second set of footsteps. Two big hands grab his shoulders, and a delicate, intense mouth kisses a burning hole into him. The scraping of a beard makes his skin sing. 

The mouth sucking at the sensitive knob at the top of his spine - a different set of teeth, an insistent tongue - is one he’s extremely familiar with.  

"I found a snowed-in hockey player that wants to play," Pat practically sing-songs into his neck, and Jonny moans quietly as big fingers work at his jeans. "He told me some really fucking hot stories. Can we act them out?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! For more fic drabbles, plot ideas, complaining about joe thornton's perfection, etc, you can follow me on twitter at @picklesnake.
> 
> By the way, if I were ever to write Thornton/Marleau sex, it would be the quietest, gentlest, most intense passionate sex in the universe.


End file.
